Tall Tales and Memories
by Sunn-Kissed
Summary: The death of Legolas at the Black Gates and the effects thereof. Chapter Three now up: Poor Pippin.
1. Elven Wrath Part I

**Disclaimer**:I own none of this. I am very depressed about it, but I will try to move on.

**Summary**: Legolas dies at the Black Gate. AU. Several people remember things he has done, both sweet and brave. Basically a collection of ficlets that wouldn't leave me alone.

_I am so, so very sorry to all who were forced to read this before the third chapter was posted. I just went through it again on my new, very handy spell checker and discovered more mistakes that I had originally thought. Again, I apologize._

_ Chapter One: Elven Wrath Part I_

Six. Six days.

He felt it in his heart, in his soul. It would be the end, for him to return no more. It would be his turn to fade, as countless numbers had before him. To depart these forsaken lands for the world of Light and the Absence of Darkness. To follow his fore- fathers to where he once believed impossible in his long-ago childhood days.

In just six days.

It had been plaguing him, haunting his dreams, changing the way he saw the world. It would be the end, for him to return no more. Never to do anything momentous. Ever again.

It wasn't as though this was a new feeling. He had been feeling this shadow since...when had he first felt it? It felt like years, centuries ago that he had found out. But in reality it was only a few months. Ever since this fool's quest had begun. But now...this very day...it was different. It was an exact time, an exact date. So obvious that he could not believe no one else noticed. So subtle he did not know how he had come to realize it himself.

_ Six days. _

He stared out of the window into the setting sun. It would have been a stunning sight, full of life and colour, but the shadow that plagued the land obscured the magnificence of it. He could barely feel the stars, the cover of darkness was so thick. He looked down into the gardens below. They were full of dark plants, dark flowers. Dark everything. His friends had thought that they were being considerate, giving him the room with the best view of the plants and trees in the palace gardens. But it was more of a saddening experience, for the plants craved the light, and the trees called out their mourning to him, lamenting the loss of their greatest friend, the Sun, the Creator, the Life-Giver.

He turned away from the window and walked to the center of the room, dulling Arda's song with the thick white walls of the Keep. He stared around the room, memorizing the patterns on the walls. Green leaves. How ironic. The walls were white, bordered with the leaves. The ceiling was stunning, an intricate pattern of trees and flowers that would look out of place anywhere else, yet fit here perfectly. It reminded him of a scene from Imladris, the view from the balconies of the eastern side of the Ford. The bed was high, with cream-coloured sheets and a wooden headboard, styled in the ways of man. Such a pity that he'd only slept in it for one night.

_He would die. _It broke through his thought like a stroke of lightning. How foolish of him, to only now realize what he had been thinking of for the last few hours. He braced himself for an onslaught of fear, anger, and other terrible emotions. But nothing came. No shock. No fear. No, no fear was present at the thought of disappearing. Just...an odd curiosity. A morbid feeling that was merely questioning, heedless of the fact he would die. A wanting to know i _why /i _, why he had to be the one to fall, and not one of the others. Battles and skirmishes are not normally choosy about who dies and who lives. Why him? Why now, and not in Pelennor Fields, or Moria? What purpose could there be in dying in a distraction?

And why did he feel, as certain as he felt it would come in six days, that Aragorn would somehow bring about his end?

It was a haunting thought. One of his greatest friends, his killer. i _But_ /i , he reminded himself, i _it cannot be intentional. Aragorn would not do that. /i _Or would he? Was the man truly his friend? They had known each other for most of Aragorn's life, and yet here he would kill him. Maybe he was not so true a friend. Maybe he had been used all these years, only to become needless now and be destroyed. Maybe he did not fit in with the King's future plans, and must be disposed of...

He felt his cheeks heat up, mortified by shame. How could he suspect such things? Aragorn had been with him through good, evil and everything in between. He dishonored him by thinking such things.

No matter the cause, however, he would still have to deal with the effect as soon as possible. He wished for no sorrow, no mourning. Sadness is a great foe, and he was sure that they would cry for him as he would for any one of them. That he could not live with, or die with, as it were. Gimli, at least would understand why he did what he did, after a time and with the proper preparations. The Dwarf was a warrior to the end, and would know why he would not stay back from a battle. A least, he hoped he would. Perhaps he over-estimated Gimli.

He would not stay behind from Mordor, from the battle that would decide the fate of Middle-Earth. No matter where he was, he would still fall, whether in a battle or a cart accident. In battle he could give himself a name in history, a reason to be remembered in the songs of time. To fall by any other means would be a deed unworthy of the heir of Thranduil. He would fall for his country, his people, his world. It seemed petty, to crave remembrance in a time of such shadow, but he did so without shame.

He refocused in the task at hand: saying farewell without anyone catching on. As he looked around his room, a gift from the king-to-be, he noticed a finely crafted desk along the wall opposite the bed. White and gilded gold, it was. An exquisite, expensive piece of work. Elvish by the looks of the patterns on it. No self-respecting Dwarf could make such realistic leaves and stars as those. He walked over and pulled out the chair.

As he sat down, he saw for the fist time the parchment and quill on top of the desk. Aragorn had clearly meant for him to write his father, to assure him that his son was alive and well. The woodland king would get his message, but it would be different than intended. He dipped the quill into an inkpot, and his hand was poised over the page, ready to write.

_What should I say? _His mind froze. How do you say goodbye for eternity? How do you simply leave everyone and everything you love with nothing but a few words in a letter? Sure, he and his father might, might meet again in the Undying Lands, unless the stubborn Elf refused to acknowledge the sea-longing and became mortal, which was unlikely. But his friends--would he see them in Mando's Halls? Would they, the mortals who saved the world, be allowed access? He now fiercely did not want to die. He wanted to live, to see the Hobbits get married, to visit the Shire, and even tour the Glittering caves with the rock-loving dwarf. He did not want to disappear!

His musings had taken so long that a big, back blob of ink had fallen on to the pristine whiteness of the parchment and the rest of the ink had dried in the quill. He crumpled the piece into a ball in his fist, and tossed it into a wastebasket and trimmed the end off the quill with his pocket knife. He again stared at the new parchment, which had been beneath the old one. This time, he waited

until he knew what to say before he dipped the tip of the quill into the ink pot.

_'Dear Father,' _

No, no! That was not right at all. He could at least give his father an Elvish address in his final words from his son! He tossed out this page as well.

_'Dear Ada'_

Better. Much less formal.

_'Dear Ada, _

_I am so sorry. It may come as a shock, but I am sorry. I never meant to die. __I know when I will fall, that cannot be helped, but I do not know where or how. That I can control, and will try to make my __passing worthy of your notice. I will fall with my friends, facing the shadow with the light of Men and Hobbits. _

_Should you ever meet any of my comrades, I wish for you to treat them with the same respect and friendship you would give an Elf. Even the Dwarf, who has become one of my dearest friends. I call him Elvellon, he has become so important to me. _

_I hope to meet you again in Valinor, but even if I do not, you have my love for now and always, _

_Legolas Thranduilion.'. _

He read over the completed work and nodded with satisfaction. That would suffice for his father, but his fellowship would be far more difficult.

He pulled out a new parchment, this time not thinking of what to say, simply knowing. As he wrote, he smiled grimly. It was a queer feeling, saying goodbye to people who do not know you are leaving. They all flashed in his mind, friends speaking to him of secrets, of personal matters, and just fooling around. Pippin, tripping over a rock and pulling Merry down with him. Aragorn playing the part of a royal Ranger to perfection, then slipping into a carefree mood while throwing mud at a cursing Gimli, who seemed like a stiff-necked dwarf, until he threw that first mud glob at Aragorn's back and pointed at Legolas when the Ranger looked back questioningly.

He finished, carefully reading and rereading his letters. As he was sprinkling sand on them and folding them into addressed envelopes, there was a loud knock at the door. Legolas' head jerked up and his body went stiff, thinking it was a servant or other bothersome busybody who wanted to see the strange, beautiful elf-thing that the King had brought home with him. He had already

had to send away a maid who had brought with her an artist from the city, a horse -boy, and a bodyguard of the late Steward. When he heard two familiar voices outside the door, he relaxed.

"Legolas! Are you coming?"

"If you keep us waiting, Elf..."

"I am rather more worried that getting a certain dwarf onto a horse being the delay," Legolas called back as he pushed open his door and went out to meet Aragorn and Gimli.

The march to Mordor took six days. It was now definite; he would die at the Battle of Cirith Gorgor.

The sixth morning dawned brighter and clearer than the passed days. The closer to Mordor the army went, the brighter it got in the mornings and the darker it became in the afternoon. It was strange to wake up to the sun, only to have it covered as if it had never been a few hours later. The strain of living without light was beginning to show on the plants and trees they had passed on the road to Mordor, though only Legolas could here their pleas for light after midday when the sky went dark, everyone noticed their plight. The trees were limp, leaves hanging near the ground, and all edible plants had little taste or life left in them.

That is why no one truly noticed the only elf in the company grow quieter and quieter the closer they came to the accursed land of Sauron. Most thought that elves were so closely tuned to Arda's creatures that this death and destruction was like a blow to the head. They were not far off, Legolas did feel hurt for the plants, but that was not the cause. The remains of the Fellowship, who were close enough to Legolas to know that something else was bothering him, attributed his silence to the sea-longing he had been infected with less than a week back. Gimli was always trying to distract him from the calls of the sea with jesting insults and conversation, and everyone else tried to prevent him from staring off into the West for too long.

But none guessed that the silence was due too a certain knowledge of Legolas' doom. It weighed down on him like a fog, constantly reminding him of what was to come and never giving a moment's relief from it's message. Legolas tried hard to act as if nothing at all was bothering by retreating to the Elvish way of things; _say nothing, all's well. _That did not work so well either, because everyone just thought whatever was bothering him had grown worse, but then no one asked what the matter was anymore. They thought he would not answer, so what was the point? He appreciated the help that they attempted to give him, but refused to tell anyone, even Gandalf, what was coming. They would send him home, to Minas Tirith, or worse, all the way to Eryn Lasgalen. He promised himself to act natural, as if nothing was wrong, on the fifth night. The next morning will be difficult, or so he thought.

The sixth day dawned as clear as the rest, and as clear as those that would come after it. Legolas had lain near the fire all night, between Gimli and young Pippin, who had chattered nervously for a time, until Merry had thrown a rock at him and moaned from somewhere in his blanket for Pippin to "shut up or face the consequences." He had not slept, even after Pippin ceased to talk.

He had thought that getting up off the ground, talking to his friends, acting normal, would be hard, but it wasn't. It was as though Legolas lived in a different world, one where he was not going to die, where he would be frozen in this place forever, eternally on the morn of a huge battle, but never fighting.

Everyone was nervous. They made small jokes and smiled, but it was painfully obvious how frightened everyone was. The stress of knowing that what you are doing only serves the purpose of a distraction, and that you most likely will not live to see the next day would tell on anyone's nerves.

Legolas walked through the camp, a small bundle of bags in his hands, searching for his friends who had gone their separate ways after gathering their belongings. Pippin was with the other soldiers of Gondor, and Gandalf was talking of reworking the stone of Minas Tirith with Gimli and Aragorn, which Legolas thought was a strange thing for a Wizard to. _Who knows, though, what an Istar thinks? _he said to himself. But he was not looking for anyone that he actually knew where they were, no, he had to be searching for one little hobbit in this proverbial sea of Men! Loud, obnoxious Men. He sighed, wishing he was with his own, silent folk.

He winced as a chorus of shouts rang out from the picketing lines for the horses. High-pitched whinnies soon followed, the sound of terrified horses. Many of the men were good soldiers, trained to fight, but many more of them had no idea how to properly care for a

war horse. He resisted the urge to go and calm the poor beasts, who were so frightened of being close to Mordor that they turned on their own masters. He could sympathize with the creatures, forced to go to the last place on Arda they wanted to be, and taken care of by inept Men with good intentions.

Legolas walked away from the pickets, leaving Men to sort out their own horse problems. Maybe a few of the remaining soldiers from Rohan could help them. He had to go and find Merry. The Brandybuck had disappeared only a few minutes ago, right when the whole of the camp was mounting up.

Where would he have gone?

He tried to put himself in Merry's position: a young thing getting ready for one of his first battles after being injured in the last one. Then it came to him. If you weren't with your friends, you would be with the thing you trust second-most in the world. He turned around and headed back to the horse shelters.

He walked around the back, as to not pass through the frightened groups of horses. Standing off to the side, out of the way of the Big People, was Meriadoc Brandybuck, grooming his horse. Or pony, actually. The horses were too big for the Hobbits, and they had not wished to ride behind a larger person like luggage. Legolas just stood there watching for a bit, waiting for Merry to acknowledge his presence.

The hobbit was oblivious to the world, focusing only on cleaning his pony.

"Merry," Legolas said. The hobbit did not look up from grooming his pony. He was clearly distracted, for he had been brushing for quarter of a hour, and the small army of Gondor was ready to leave. Or would be, if the horses could be controlled and mounted. "Merry!"

"What? Who--oh, what, Legolas?" Merry said, as if he had been woken up from a dream. He stopped brushing and turned around.

"If you look around you will notice that we are all mounting our horses and moving out."

'Oh," Merry looked around, embarrassed. The he turned back to Legolas, face stricken. "My packs! I haven't even rolled up my--"

Legolas cut him off, handing the bags he had been carrying around to the flustered Hobbit. " Next time, however much your pony here likes to be brushed, pack your stuff before we have to move out."

Merry took the bags and looked down, almost seeming shy, "Thank you, Legolas. I don't know what we'd do without you." He looked back up to Legolas, eyes full of gratitude. It hurt, how much Merry said with that one look. He believed that Legolas would be around forever. Foolish, young hobbit. However much Legolas wanted to always be around to pick up the forgotten packs, Merry would have to use another immortal as a reminder to do the things he always seemed to forget.

There was something else in the hobbit's eyes...fear. That was understandable, but Legolas thought it was best to ask what the problem was anyway. Perhaps he could ease Merry's fear as he could not his own.

"What is bothering you, Merry?" he asked, crouching so he could look directly into Merry's eyes. Merry opened his mouth to protest that nothing was wrong, but Legolas cut him off. "You stood brushing old Fern," that was the pony's name,"for a quarter of an hour, where as you always tried to make Pippin do your turns at grooming Bill back in Dunland."

"I-" Merry stopped and looked away, ashamed of his fear, then looked back and started again. "I am worried that this will have no purpose."

"What do you mean?" Legolas questioned, even though he knew exactly what Merry meant.

"I am worried that Frodo and Sam are already d-dead," he stumbled over the word. Now that it was out in the open, the poor lad looked terrified., "and that this battle will be pointless, and all these men will die for nothing," He paused, then finished in a whisper, "and I'm scared that I will die with them."

Legolas sighed. "Frodo and Sam were seen by Faramir not a fortnight ago. And, though that may seem long, I assure that we would all know if the Ring had been taken. Gondor would have fallen, even with the Dead to help us. The shadow would have spread through the land, and Lorien would have faded with Rivendell and Eryn Lasgalen." He stopped here, to let this sink in. "No, Merry, this battle will not be in vain. And though many good, strong men will fall, I feel that much good will come of this." How mad it was that he, who did not know whether this battle was worth it either, could ramble on about hope?

"Listen to me. I sound like and old Istar." Legolas smiled and clapped Merry on the shoulders as he stood up. "But I do promise that, unless the Valar are against me, you will not die, Tithen er." (little one). Now it was Merry's turn to smile. The hobbit tied his bags to his saddle and climbed on. Fern let Legolas lead him by the reins to Arod, who was tied only a few meters away.

Merry looked at the silent Legolas, noticing how pale the Elf seemed as he led the pony. Was it possible for elves to be sick? Merry could not remember, but he thought that Aragorn had mentioned how strange it was, being the only ill creature in Rivendell when he had a cold as a child. Well, if Legolas was not sick, what could be bothering him so much that he had circles under his eyes? They were barely noticeable, but there were faint, dark smudges under Legolas' piercing blue eyes.

"Legolas?" Merry began. He did not like the thought that anything could bother the Immortal friend he had made on the road over Caradhras.

Legolas anticipated the question and turned around, untying Arod's hitchings without looking. He looked straight into Merry's brown eyes with his blue ones. "I am well, young one. Just this blighted land gives me the Elvish equivilent of nightmares." Merry believed him, for those hypnotizing blue eyes would not lie. So bright, so endless, full of the age that Legolas had lived. And full of Elven spirit, untamable and kind.

Legolas hated lying to Merry, but he could not possibly tell that he was going to die within the next--he looked at the sun and judged the time--twelve hours in a pointless battle.

"Elves can have nightmares?" Merry asked, tearing his gaze away at last.

"Of a kind." Legolas said as he finished releasing his horse with a final yank."It is more of a dark feeling that follows us as we dream, like a black cloud turning the surface of a lake dark." He hed Arod's and Fern's reins in his hands and started into the mess of horses trying to be mounted.

"What's wrong with them?" Merry asked, refering to the horses. He was staring after a man who was chasing his mount around.

"They are frightened of the shadow." Legolas answered, his voice strained. The high-pitched whinnies and screams of horses weregiving him a headache. He stopped suddenly to let a rocketing horse pass, then continued forward, rubbing his head with his free hand. What an irony that the one most in tune with beasts should be the one getting a headache off of their natural sounds.

The pickets were a mess of horses and men, the men chasing the horses and the horses running. They all were heading in the same direction: away from Mordor. Several times Legolas had to quickly sidestep to avoid being trod on, and he couldn't get around to mount Arod without being crushed.

He now wondered why he had not just left the way he had come and gone around the horses. He did not want to die in a pit of horses if one accidentally slammed into him, not guessing how fragile bodies are.

As he was thinking this, a huge black stallion was breaking free from from it's post as it's master tried to calm it down. The strong beast just gave a final toss of his head, and the reins came free. He spun around in a tight circle, searching for a way to escape the darkness and fire of Mordor. He turned and charged into the fray. This would not have been a big problem, for one horse would not have made a difference, but this giant charged straight in the direction of Legolas and Merry.

Legolas was looking to the left, towards an opening to the rest of the camp, when Merry behind him gave a cry and pointed forwards, eyes wide with horror. Legolas turned to see what the Hobbit was staring of and was taken completely by surprise.

A bolting horse came stampeding into his path, a black missile charging in his direction. Legolas did not even have time to shout. The horse's eyes were rolled back into it's head, only the whites showing. Legolas waited for the crushing blow which he knew wouldcome.

_A freak horse accident. Most undignified. _

Then, the beast stopped just short of Legolas and reared up into the air right in front of the Elf, with braying sound more heard in donkeys than in noble stallions of Gondor. His hooves flew in the air, narrowly missing Legolas' face, who threw up his empty hand

to shield himself. This started Fern, who tried to shy away from the huge stallion and get out of Legolas' grasp. He had to hold tightly to keep both Arod and Fern from bolting while ducking ducking flying horse feet. Merry could only watch in horror, for he had lost all control over Fern and Legolas' hand was the only thing keeping him from being dragged off by his once-faithful pony.

Legolas ducked the rearing stallion and could only think of Merry, who was defenseless on top of Fern, who was still tugging on the lead ropes to escape. He did not want to think of what a giant horse could do to a hobbit. If Merry got hurt, just minutes after Legolas had promised to protect him, somebody would pay. He did not know who, but_ i somebody /i _would.

The blasted horse above him was not coming down. He just stayed in the air...somehow...kicking his hooves at anything around him. If only Legolas could get away, he could calm this black tsunami and get on with this day.

Legolas started to back up away from the horse, pushing Fern and Arod backwards behind him. If he could get out of the horse's range, they would be safe. As he took a second slow step backwards, a hoof collided with his left forearm, the one holding the reins. He cried out in pain as his arm lit on fire. It raced up his arm, making his shoulder go numb. He knew from experience that it was not broken, but would turn several colours in the morning. He cradled it against his chest for a moment, until the severity of what he had just thought struck him.

In the morning.

He would not see the dawn again, and here he was fighting with this fool horse to get out of a corral! It seemed so pointless. It was the horse's fault that Legolas had been hit, and here he was, still trying to calm it! He tried to move his hand, to work some feeling back into his fingers, then realized he still had the reins to Arod and Fern in his fist. It was amazing that he had not dropped them long ago. Another wave of pain came as Legolas lifted up him arm to examine the fingers. He had to stop before the arm was fully raised. The numbing sensation had disappeared, and now he wished for it to come back. Legolas winced as he lowered his arm back down and continued moving backwards.

Merry stared at the black creature in front of him, standing on it's back legs and kicking like a cornered beast. It had charged at with Legolas out any reason other than it was terrified, and had hit him hard in the arm. Even from his perspective, above everyone else, it looked painful.

Merry looked at the stallion, and then back to Legolas, who appeared to not notice that reins that were so tightly clenched in his fist that the knuckles had turned white. The Elf's pale face had and expression of pain and...something else. Something unidentifiable that scared Merry more than the raging beast before him. He wondered what the Elf knew that would make him look like that.

Legolas could feel the anger beginning to bubble in his chest. These Men could not control these beasts at all, and now he had a spooked stallion rearing up in front of him and nearly bashing his head in while he tried to hold onto Merry's pony and his own horse while the stallion's owner tried to calm his horse with shouts of "Stop, Colbolt, stop!" and the rest of the fool men werechasing their own horses around the camp. His arm burned,and he actually wished for a moment that Aragorn would come running with one of his disgusting salves.

He had enough of this.

_" Daro! " _He roared. He reflected for a moment on how much he had began to sound like his father. _" Diiin! Daro (this) (now)! " _The horse-yard fell silent, and the majority of the horses stopped moving. Colbolt was not one of them.

Legolas roughly grabbed at the stallion's reins, which were flying through the air as Colbolt's head tossed back and forth, with his good hand. Legolas pulled down hard, and all four of the horses' hooves touched the ground. He leaned forward to whisper in Colbolt's ear, "Dinen, roch rauko. Dinen." The beast quieted, even though Legolas' words weren't particularly calming. The Elf shoved Colbolt's reins roughly into it's master's hands and walked forward. The second he made as though to leave, horses tossed their heads into the air and their reins flew out of their unsuspecting master's hands.

The horses began to turn back to the east, and stare towards the flaming top of Mt.Doom, and the fear returned. One horse started to scream again, and then another. Legolas knew that the whole camp would be screaming if this kept up. He felt like screaming himself. All pity he had every had for the horses disappeared in an instant, and he just wanted to get out of this camping site and--he could not believe this himself--on to Mordor. He did not want to spend his last hours taming horses.

_"Diiin!"_ He roared again. Anyone who knew the Elf relized how uncharacteristic this was. Legolas never had yelled at them before, and certainly not at horses. " _Diiin_." he said more quietly. _" Ai, man na en? Ruin? Gurth?" _He was being harsh; he knew it. But this foolishness had to end. They had to move on closer to Mordor. They had to have the horses to get there, and if yelling would silence them and easy his frustration, so be it._ " Amin feuya ten'lle." _

He turned and left, still nursing his bruised arm and leading Arod and Fern, with a silent Merry on top, wondering what exactly his Elvish friend had said. Merry turned back, and saw that every beast was standing quietly or being mounted, staring after the Elf's receding back. The Men did not know what was said either; few had ever had the chance to learn Elvish, but they were grateful that they could finally get on with the march.

And still unhappy, for Legolas had willingly brought them closer to what could be their doom.

Once out of earshot of the men, Legolas spoke softly. It sounded a strange compared to the tone of voice he had used earlier, but all the anger he had felt had disappeared. "What did you think of that, Tithen er?" He stared straight ahead, and was leading the horses to the head of the columns which were forming out of the finally-mounted riders of Gondor. Rohan's forces were already prepared, and several of the soldiers smirked at the straggling Gondorian troops. Aragorn's men just glared back, and whispered amongst themselves. Legolas could have listened in and heard every word if he tried, but he was not interested in the daily gossip.

After several moments pause and and he had considered a few different answers, Merry said, "I think that I have never seen you angry before."

Legolas laughed musically."Angry? That was just a little frusterated. You are lucky that you have only seen one angry elf in your life, for things sometimes get," He paused to search for the right words," Get a little out of hand." he concluded

Merry actually had to think about the last Elf he had seen angry. It seemed so long ago that he, Pippin and Sam, with Aragorn, who had still been known as Strider, he crossed the Ford at Rivendell. There they had seen Glorfindel unleash the strange Elven wrath on the Nazgul who had survived the flood. It had been awe-inspiring, even though the great Elf lord had needed help to get to Rivendell after he had spent all his strength slaying the Nazgul's mounts and forcing the dark servants to be swept up into the water.

"And how many have you seen?" Merry asked softly as they arrived at the head of the colomn.

"Many times, but only in a handful Elves." Legolas said, leading Arod around several riders while looking straight ahead, "My father is very quick to anger. I've had to drag him away from a fight by force countless times." The had arrived at the head of the army, where Aragorn, Gandalf and Pippin sat mounted, buy there was no sign of Gimli. Legolas realized too late that he was still holding his arm like it was wounded, and Aragorn was staring straight at him. He sighed, knowing it would take some serious distracting for the Man to forget this.

"What's this?" Aragorn asked. He stared at Merry's awed expression, and Legolas cradling his arm. He sighed. "Can I not leave you alone for a minute, Legolas? What have you done to yourself now?"

"Nothing at all." Legolas easily got into the saddle one handed. He could not believe he had actually wanted Aragorn to look at his arm only moments before! He must have forgotten how hen-like Aragorn could get, so protective and thinking that everyone is one of his chicks. "Where is Gimli?" He looked around for the dwarf.

"Here! Don't even think of moving a muscle, Elf. It's hard enough to go through these horses without you making me chase after that mount of yours." Gimli came out of the crowd and stood next to Arod. Legolas offered his good arm, and Gimli grabbed it to pull himself up behind Legolas.

"The only time Arod moves when you are trying to mount him is when you push him, as you may have found out." Legolas said.

Aragorn yelled out for the army to march. In past days, the soilders had quickly fallen out of ranks and mixed among each other. Today, they stayed in perfect lines. Maybe it was because of the nearness to battle. Maybe the army felt that if they acted professional, they just might survive.

Legolas let Arod fall back, so that Aragorn and Gandalf were in the lead and he and Gimli could talk to Merry and Pippin. Aragorn followed him, so that he was riding on Legolas' left side.

"Show me your arm, Legolas." the King demanded cooly. He was used to Legolas hiding his wounds. The Elf was so stubborn that he did not ever need help, even when he was bleeding to death. But now, Aragorn had no time to trick a fool Elf to let himself be treated. He was on the eve of a great battle for all Middle-Earth, and needed every solider, including Legolas, to be in peak physical condition. And if Legolas was hiding his arm, it was ten to one odds that it was hurt in someway.

Legolas simply said, "It's fine. I just banged it on Arod's hitching post." He pulled his arm as far away from Aragorn as it could go.

"Legolas. Show me your arm and tell me what happened, or I will be forced to get it from Merry." Poor Merry turned white. Aragorn had his no-nonsense voice, the one that said 'do as I say, or you will wish you had never been born' while still sounding considerateand kingly that left Legolas bemused_. How does he do that? _

Legolas looked at Merry, then reluctantly handed over his arm. It was a strange position, to have Aragorn rolling up his sleeve while riding a horse in front of several hundred men. Gimli must have also thought it strange as well, because he held tighter to Legolas' waist. "Imagine, me being ordered around by someone who I am several millennia older than," Legolas sighed, hoping to get that serious expression of Aragorn's face. Aragorn just snorted and pulled gently on Legolas' sleeve.

When Aragorn carefully rolled his sleeve over his elbow, Legolas could not suppress a hiss of pain. Aragorn looked worriedly at the Elf, then back to the arm and soon found the cause for Legolas' discomfort.

Legolas' arm was a wonderful mix of colours that should never appear on a body, such as black, purple and red. He had only been hit moments ago, and he looked like a living rainbow already! If he could wake up the next morning, it would be very sore and very black. Gimli sat up to look past Legolas' shoulder at the arm. Aragorn winced at the sight of it, and continued rolling back the sleeve. Gimli made a sympathetic noise, and said, "How did you come by this, lad?" Aragorn looked up at Legolas, who had a slight blush on his cheeks. It was clear he was not going to answer any questions by the way he stared straight ahead. Typical elven pride.

"Merry?" Aragorn turned half around to look at the hobbit. "Were you there when this happened?" Merry looked with distress at Legolas who shook his head slightly and mouthed the word _no_. "Merry?" Aragorn said. Merry's eyes jerked back to him. Aragorn raised and eyebrow. The hobbit looked flustered, then decided that King of Gondor outranked Prince of Mirkwood.

"I was there." Merry said sullenly. He looked down at the ground. Aragorn waited for a pause, then said "and," and gestured with his free hand for Merry to continue as he pulled a long strip of white cloth and a small tin from his saddle bags.

"It was a horse." Merry admitted. Legolas looked down. He would be blessed indeed if the hobbit would stop there. But the Valar must have thought that an Elf who was going to die anyway was not a good one to strike a bargain with, for Merry continued.

"It was a big horse, and the whole of the pickets was a big mess of people trying to get on the horses. You should have seen this stallion, it was huge! And it charged at us after breaking loose from it's master and Legolas, who was leading Fern and Arod, was right in front of it. So the horse reared up and hit Legolas' arm with his hoof," Merry paused after this rush for a breath. Pippin was staring at him, as was everyone within hearing distance except Legolas.

Merry continued, "But Legolas still held on to the reins and he grabbed the beast's bridle and pulled down and the horse crashed down. He whispered something to it and then yelled at the whole horse-yard in Elvish and everyone stopped, and the next thing you know, the horses were mounted and, well, here we are." He finished even faster than he started, in a blur of words that you had to concentrate on to understand.

He looked apologetically at Legolas and shrugged with a half smile, "Sorry." he said, "they got it out of me." Legolas just rolled his eyes and looked back at Aragorn.

"Do not put anything on it," he said, pulling his arm away, "I have to be able to move quickly to use my knives."

Aragorn pulled Legolas' arm back. "I will put anything I deem necessary on it." He stared at Legolas, who stared back. Gimli just looked up at the both of them, silently guessing who would win this contest of wills. He would have bet gold on Aragorn, and was shocked when the king looked away first.

"Fine," Aragorn said. Legolas smiled. "But at least let me give you something for the pain." Legolas nodded suspiciously, knowing that nothing of Aragorn's concoction could ever taste good. But his arm did hurt quite a bit, and was difficult to move, even without bandages. He accepted the small container of liquid that Aragorn handed to him slowly then unscrewed the lid, never once taking his eyes off of the smiling healer. Legolas brought the container to his mouth, and took a warily small sip.

His eyes widened and he coughed as he handed the bottle back. "That tastes like old boot polish," he choked out. His eyes watered and he blinked to clear them. "No, wait. It tastes more like the cleaner they use on horse's tack." Aragorn was now grinning. Legolas took a swipe at his face with his good arm and missed, leaning far to the side. When he got his hands on that blasted ranger...

"Legolas! Would you kindly remain on the horse." Gimli said, struggling to stay on, "Or if you must kill Aragorn, let me off this thing first!"

"Arod," Legolas sat up straight, "It not a thing. He is a war horse of Rohan, and wants you to remember that." The pain in his arm had dulled to a slight ache, and Legolas felt that it soon would be barely a twinge. _Even if they do taste bad, all of Aragorn's messes work, _he thought fondly, thinking of the time when a young Estel would run through Rivendell's gardens, plucking leaves, flowers and the occasional whole plant and mixing them up in an imitation of _'Ada's medicine'_, as Estel had called it.

"There you go again, acting as if Arod speakes to you! Well, Master Elf, if this horse is such a talkative creature, why has he never taken the time to properly introduce himself to me?" Gimli presses.

"He does not want to ruin his reputation by associating with Dwarves."

"Of all the nerve!" He looked at Arod beneath him. "Maybe I do not want to ruin my reputation by associating with him." He mumbled something under his breath at horse that none but the Elf could hear. Legolas just laughed again, the musical, eternal laugh of the Firstborn that seemed to continue even when the sound has stopped passing through he Elf's lips. Gimli glared at

Legolas, which made him laugh all the harder.

_Translations: Stop! Stop this now! Silent, horse demon, silent._

_:Silence! Silence. What is it? Red flames? Death? You disgust me. _

End of the first chapter. Okay, the first half of the first chapter. I didn't want my first posting to be a mile long.

Please leave a review before you go, and have a nice day! (you know you wanna)

That's all, folks!

Sunni

P.S ; Sorry how lame the Elvish is. If anyone can recommend a good site for translations, please please tell me so I will not have to submit you more if this grammatical and just-plain-being-unable-to-find-the-right-words nightmare.


	2. Elven Wrath Part II

The legendary chapter two! What is the world coming to...I have actually completed a second chapter. Unusual.

Well.

Okay, fine I'll get on with this.

_Author's Note: I know that I have changed things around a bit here, such as Merry going to the last battle and so forth. But I just love the hobbit, so bear with me. Any lines for the books are not mine. If you have memorized enough of Return of the King canon to recognize them, kudos to you. I have changed some of them around to suit my writing; honestly, do you think that I could type the word 'wrested' and still sound like I know what I'm doing?_

_Everyone give a big round of applause to Mistaya Chavmen, my amazing beta._

_Elven Wrath Part II_

The Black Gates of Mordor have inspired fear in all, mortal and immortal alike, since they were first created. They are a pair of dark symbols of death decorated in torture and pain and all other things that Mordor creates. To the eyes, they are massive and covered in black spikes made of an unidentifiable grey stone. They seem terrible a sight, yes, like a horrifying nightmare where the only hopes you have are crushed. But that is only the beginning. Even the least perceptive can feel the evil radiating from the location, can feel how hopeless the cause is, and feel the one who created the land contained by these gates. The orcs patrol the top of the wall like small demons sent to do their master's bidding, and the mountains looming on either side are dark guards into which even a Dwarf would not dare delve... not even if they contained all the mithril in the world.

This is where the Riders of Rohan and Gondor, the last army of the free peoples of Middle-Earth, the last hope left in the world for two very minute figures on the side of Mount Doom, now stood, staring in terror to the place of their deaths.

They were perfectly ordered in ranks, some mounted and some not. In the very front was the great king, Isildur's long-lost heir, who stood side by side with the powerful Istar, who was no longer Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, but had become the White Wizard.

Other faces could be seen in the crowd, some terrified by what was to come, some terrified by what they already saw, and others with plain expressions, accepting everything and anything the way it was.

There were, of course, exceptions to this. Gimli would be full of his usually jollity that came only immediately before and after a battle. Legolas believed it had something to do with the insane ways of Dwarves, but he could be wrong. It might only be the insane ways of Gimli. Legolas turned around to look at his friend, and was shocked when the Dwarf's features were not those of prebattle glee, but were somber and thoughtful. Legolas frowned. This was unusual.

"What troubles you, Master Dwarf?" Legolas questioned, looking back at him. Gimli stared at the ground for a moment, as if trying to figure out what to say. Legolas' frown deepened.

"I never thought that I would die fighting side by side with an Elf." Gimli seemed ashamed by his own words. Legolas froze. Now the Dwarf was having doubts? Moments before this last battle? He chose these last few, precious seconds left together to question the stability of their strange friendship? It was sad that Gimli could not see the benefits that would have come from the newly forged bond, had Legolas remained alive. The Elves and Dwarves could have ended generations of hatred and malice that was held needlessly between the two groups with the simple title of i_elvellon_.

It was understandable, somehow. In some ways, it had been expected. Doubt was a constant in the universe, along with the chances of friendship. Gimli just needed a form of reassurance, however vague. "How about dying side by side with a friend?" Oh, Valar. _Reassurance?_ It sounded like an obituary! Maybe that horse had hit him on the head and he had not noticed...

Legolas looked down and smiled weakly, trying to lighten the words, before he quickly glanced back the the hulking forms of the Gates. In a very small way, he himself felt strangely reassured, despite his objections that it was not a hopeful statement. Maybe he would not fall pointlessly. His death could be the start of something as good and strange as his friendship with a Dwarf.

Gimli looked up at Legolas, slightly startled by the sentence. Legolas was not denying the fact that death was imminent with a peculiar burst of typical elvish hope. What was meant by that? This battle would not be so vicious that everyone would die. Many good, strong knights would fall, but never any of _them. _They were the remains of the once powerful Fellowship and the representatives of their races. No orc would lay hands on them, not if Gimli had an axe and breath in his body.

But what was it that Gimli saw in Legolas' eyes when he looked down?

It had been the haunted gaze of one who was doomed and knew that it was impossible to avoid death. He had only seen that look once before, in the eyes of a wounded man on the banks of the Anduin. That had been enough of the experience for him. That look had given him nightmares; so doomed, so sad and so...quiet. He never would have supposed to see it in the eyes of an Elf.

But, no. Lord Death would not take Legolas away. The Elf was wrong-- flat out wrong.

Immortals do not die. Not in a black land full of black creatures. The Valar would not allow it.

Aragorn rode up and down the rows of Men, shouting about hope and death and other matters. Legolas was not truly listening, and did not pay attention to what was said. He could only stare at the king, so regal, so royal, so changed. He was not the same ranger that had set out from Imladris. He was no where near the same person whom Legolas had met over eighty years ago. Aragorn was a true leader of Men now, and things could never go back to the way they were before.

_How badly I wish to see him crowned._ For decades, that had been one of the only things that had gotten him out of battles, fevers, wounds and wars. The sole thought of seeing that child, then that boy, then that man, come into his own. And now, with victory so close he could taste it, he now had to pass. One more of life's sour twists.

He shut his eyes for a moment, blocking out all thoughts but those of battle and victory. There was no other option; victory or everything is in vain, victory or all shall fall into darkness.

Victory, and yet for him defeat.

The morbid feeling returned, sending a shiver down his spine. _No_, he thought fiercely and drawing himself up to his full height on Arod's back. He would go to battle tall and proud. He would not -_could_ not- disgrace his Elven kindred.

"Legolas! Elf! Look at at me! Are you even hearing this?" Something thumped him on the back, jarring his arm, and Legolas started. He turned around, eyes wide. Behind him was Gimli. He had forgotten about the Dwarf completely in his reverie.

After recovering from the initial shock, he spoke, choking on his words, knowing this could be the last thing Gimli would ever hear from him. "What is it you desire, Master Dwarf? Or have you taken to bruising your comrades for the entertainment of it?" He rubbed his shocked arm and looked reprovingly down on the Dwarf.

"If you care to notice, several people were riding up to the gates. Apparently, you do not think it prudent, but I would like to be up there as the representative of the Dwarven People."

Legolas turned around, and realized that Hobbit, Man, Wizard and Half-Elven had ridden up a few paces nearer to the gates. How had he stared in that direction for so long and not noticed? No matter now, of course. "I was only waiting for you to ready yourself for Arod's movement. I would not want you to fall off halfway there. What would the Dwarven race think of that?"

"Get moving!" Gimli grabbed onto the Elf's waist as Arod surged forward, trotting up to join Gandalf and Aragorn at the head of the column.

"So you have decided to join us now?" Aragorn raised an eyebrow at Legolas.

"I was not planning on it, but Gimli insisted. He seems to think that all of us are needed for a job one Istar could do."

"Ah, but you are forgetting that, as the only Dwarf and Elf here, you are required to come. It is written in _Honor and Regulations of the House of Gondor_, which I happened to stumble across in my stay in the castle." Aragorn smiled sweetly at him. "So, if Gimli had not insisted that you ride forward when you did, I would have been forced to go back and get you."

"Stumbled across, eh? I bet that you searched for hours in that library just so you can execute some form of an order on me. Well, you are forgetting that I am of the Woodland people, and do not live in that stone creation you call a city."

"But out of courtesy you would have followed my command anyway."

"You are awfully priggish for one who was raised by Elves." Elladan and Elrohir looked at Legolas in mock offense. Legolas grinned, "and far to certain for one so young that your every whim will be obeyed. I believe I know where you learned that trait." He looked quickly ahead, guessing the distance between them and the black doors, in order to avoid the glares he knew where coming his way. It was no more that twenty paces, a minute at the slow walk they were traveling at.

"I am afraid that I must interrupt." Gandalf interjected. All eyes turned to him, and Gandalf was struck with how serious everyone looked, despite the lightheartedness of the conversation. "When we reach the gates, it is stunningly important that I do the talking."

Pippin, riding on the other side of Prince Imrahil, nodded.

They rode in silence for a few seconds, then Gandalf continued. "Legolas," The elf looked over at him, blue eyes full of mourning and - could it possibly be terror? Gandalf smiled softly, and looked straight into Legolas's eyes. "It would be better for you were to wear your hood over your face."

"And be half blinded by the fabric?" Legolas raised an eyebrow.

"You look so much like your father when you do that. He also has a tendency to question my advice. Little Greenling, the Orcs hate the Elves far more than they do so Men and Dwarves. If you are noted as one of the Fairfolk, they will attack you with all that they have."

"I will not hide behind my cloak." Legolas said stubbornly, "and do not call me by that name. I have only just gotten 'Dan and 'Roh to stop saying that, and I am older than they!"

"Not by that much," Elrohir muttered.

"And it looks like we will have to start calling you that again." Elladan added. Imrahil just looked confused, having not grown up with this trio and not knowing the relationship between Legolas and the twins. Eomer, looking shyly away, did not believe that anyone could have enough nerve to tease an elf, even if they were the same kindred.

"Whatever your name may be, put up the hood." Gandalf fixed him with a cold glare that could freeze the sun. Legolas narrowed his eyes in response, and opened his mouth to speak.

Before any words came out, his hood was up over his ears and shielding his face. It also knocked several degrees of his vision away, which would make it difficult for him to aim a bow with his usual skill. Turning his head and shoulders around, he fixed Gimli with an amused glare.

The dwarf blushed and looked to Aragorn, who spoke. "If he had not done it, I would have. You do not care about being the center of an attack, so we care for you."

Legolas sighed and faced forward. "It seems that I am outvoted."

"That you are, Little Greenling." Gimli said sagely.

Legolas whipped his eyes to Gandalf. "See what you have started? I shall never outlive that name!" Merry chuckled softly beside Aragorn. When Legolas turned his steely gaze on him, the Hobbit looked pointedly away. "Why must I be forced to suffer this indignity while you let 'Dan and 'Roh, not to mention my Lord Imrahil, ride unhindered?"

"Because, Thranduilion, they are only Half-Elven."

"And so not worthy of the attention of Orcs," Elrohir added.

"Cease this discussion!" Aragorn said softly. Legolas looked up, and was startled that the gates were immediately in front of them.

"Come forth!" Shouted Aragorn suddenly, making Legolas jump in the saddle. His voice echoed back off the gates. "Let the lord of the Black Land come forth! Justice shall be done upon him. For wrongfully he has made war upon Gondor and attacked its lands. Therefore the King of Gondor demands that he should atone for his evils, and depart then forever!"

"Nicely done," Gandalf admired. Aragorn half bowed to him from Hasufel's back.

It may have been nicely said, but no one answered the call. The gates stood tall and imposing in front of the Captains, and no sound was heard from the other side.

They stood for a full minute, gazing in silence at the Gates, wondering what Sauron was preparing behind those iron doors.

"Come. He is to cowardly to answer your summons, Aragorn." Gimli said. Legolas turned Arod's head away, and the middle door of the Black Gates crashed open, clanging loudly in the silent evening. Out rode a party of orcs, led by a dark, man-shaped figure in black.

Legolas felt a moment's pity of the beast the man was riding; it was more dead than alive, tortured and ruined in the fires of Mordor, but the feeling was washed away by a surge of terror as the rider approached. It was the same fear as of a Wraith, but this was not a simple Nazgul.

It was the Nameless; the Lieutenant of Barad-Dur.

"I am the Mouth of Sauron."

His voice grated like the metal of the gates, loud and echoing without being raised above a hoarse rasp.

"Is there anyone in this company worthy of speaking to me? Or at least possessing the wit to understand me? Not you, at least." He sneered at Aragorn. The Man had to press is hands tightly together to avoid grasping his sword hilt, but he remained silent.

"So you think you are worthy to be made a king? It takes more than a piece of elvish glass, or even a rabble such as this. Any brigand of the hills can gather such a following!"

Legolas felt the hatred in him rise, almost to the point of disobeying Gandalf's instructions and speaking. How dare the beast say such things? But Aragorn just stared deep into the Lieutenant's eyes, unblinking, and time froze for a moment. The Mouth of Sauron drew back in what could only be fright, and looked away. "I am herald and ambassador of this land, and shall not be treated as such!" His voice was no longer grating, but had become more of a squeaking croak.

"If there were such laws here, your insolence would have broken them long ago." Gandalf spoke suddenly, breaking the building tension.

The messenger's eyes turned to the wizard. "So! You are the spokesperson, old greybeard? Has your meandering about these lands taught you nothing of my master? The long years of your life have addled your wits, it seems. I do not come unprepared for you and your wizardly mischief." Now the Mouth of Sauron grinned, if it were possible to see it behind his iron mask. He beckoned to someone behind him with his hand, never tearing his eyes from Gandalf's unmoving features.

A bundle of cloth was placed into his hands by a sweating servant, and the Nameless One opened it, drawing out the last things anyone present expected or wanted to see.

Out of the bundle came Sam's short sword. Legolas shook his head silently. _No. This is not possible._

Next came a grey cloak of Lothlorien. How long ago it seemed that they had be presented with these, yet the cloth was unstained or torn.

Last, and most horrible of all, came a coat of mithril mail. Pippin surged forward with an unexpected sobbing cry of sadness, but Gandalf shoved him back roughly.

"So you have more of the imps with you, greybeard? I myself find no use for them. What folly it was for you to send one as a spy into Sauron's great lands!" the messenger laughed out loud at this. "You cannot deny that at least some among you has seen these tokens before."

"I do not wish to deny it. But why, foul Mouth of Sauron, do you bring them here? They have no purpose in this council."

"I believe they _are_ the purpose of this council. For, you see, Sauron holds not great love for spies, even those ones from that rat-and of the Shire. The fate of your Halfling depends now upon your choice. Surrender, and he lives. Fight," he paused, "and he will die the most painful death I can conjure."

_Please give credit to pages 164-166, The Black Gate Opens, Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King_

Oooo! I got reviews!

The Balrog of Athena: Thank you so much! I hope you continue reading. I try to update fast, but I need to keep up with my _other_ life. Keep reviewing. I will give you cookies of your flavour preference, so long as it falls between chocolate and peanut butter, which are just about the only things I can make.

Roguish Smile: I like to believe he used his 'elveness' to find out, sort of a premonition, as it were. I know that he's no Elrond, but I want to think all Elves have foresight to some degree. If this explanation does not satisfy, tell me and I will send you a detailed letter on this subject which I know next to nothing about. Thanks for the review.

Wantanelf: Me to. That is, I want an Elf. But for some reason my parents refuse to buy me one for Christmas. Anyway, I promise to attempt to try to spell better. It is very difficult. I know the words, I know the meanings, I just can not remember how to spell them. Thank you so much for you review. (yeah, Legolas angry is fun, but hard to write.) I love your reveiw!!!!

Hobbit Killer: Blackmail, eh? I'll have to remember that. Thank you for the review. Do you think it was too long? I tried to shorten it...but it did not really work. I keep not wanting to get rid of stuff. It was hard enough to break this into two chapters and delete the parts that you didn't get read. You are my first reveiwer EVER, so you get a huge hug and a cookie the size of Montreal.

Bitterlee: Thank you so much. I hope that you keep reviewing.

Ghemstone: Thanks a lot. It's nice to know that somebody other than me likes to see a hobbit other than Frodo have a key role in a fic. Do not wimp out! I will make it as easy for you as possible. If you do wimp out, expect several either tearful or threatening e-mails to be coming your way.

Barbara Kennedy: Thank you for the tip. I've tried that site, but it always says that there have been too many hits. Sigh. Glad you find this interesting.

Dracademented: What an encouraging review. I have already driven someone to madness! Go me! As for you, dear Demented, I tried to update quickly. I hope I wasn't too late...

Godzilla: Thanks a lot. I hope you enjoyed this chapter too.

Acuamaine: Well...since you are begging...still no. Lol. Read and find out what happens. I will say no more here. :)

Lady Of The House: You sound like a very intelligent person. Thank you for the review, and I'd love it if she would be my beta. I sent you an e-mail, but I got no reply. Don't worry, Mistaya! I could never replace you.


	3. Rally Round the Flag Pole

_Author's note: Bad me. Bad, evil me. A year to update...And it doesn't look like the next ones coming any time soon..._

_Oh, and thank you to my beta Mistaya Chavmen, goddess of editing._

* * *

**Chapter Three: Rally Round the Flag Pole**

Legolas concluded that Gandalf was either more terrifying than anyone knew, or that certain Messengers were oblivious to body language. Perhaps it was both.

The small group of Captains rode swiftly back to their lines, dead quiet and eyeing Gandalf with an air of uncertainty that had nothing to do with the fact that the old Istari had shed his grey cloak and only now wore his white robes.

Legolas silently praised the Valar that he himself had never, in all his years, ever crossed Gandalf in such a way that he would be treated like that Messenger.

"I never knew evil minions could make such a sound." Elladan croaked out, blinking his eyes quickly. He squinted ahead at the waiting men. "As interesting as that was, you could have warned me to shield my face. I have sunspots dancing a merry jig in front of me where I should be seeing an army." Legolas had to agree. Dark spots clouded his sight in several places, not to mention the speed his heart had beat at when Gandalf had...removed...the hobbit's lost articles from the Lieutenant's possession.

But, the squawk the Witch King had given, coupled with the offended air that he had stalked back through the Morannon with, almost made this slight downside worth it.

"That _was_ interesting." Elrohir spoke up after his twin, "though were it any but you, Mithrandir, I-" His voice was cut abruptly off by the sound of well-rehearsed orc horn's blowing in the open gates behind them. Gandalf hurriedly bundled the recovered sword and coat in the cloak, burying them in the folds of his own robe.

Legolas had time for a quick glance back over Gimli's head. "Ai, Valar," he breathed softly at the approaching legions.

"Ride!" Aragorn called, and the Captains broke into a gallop that took them to the front ranks of the Men as a great jeering cry echoed up from the walls of the filling gate and more orcs poured out by the thousands.

To the west and north another orchestra of horns sounded ominously in the grey. Easterlings marched out of the shadows of Ered Lithui, ranks of men in strange garb with spears that looked as of they could gut a Mumakil.

Yet another horn sounded, and Legolas whipped his head around to the west, inhaling sharply. He could feel Gimli's hands shaking slightly at his waist, and knew that the reins before him shuddered not only because he had a bruised arm.

The western hills of the Morannon came alive with column upon column of orcs, each of them howling for blood and wishing to slake their lust for battle on the small cluster of soldiers, defenseless against the massive numbers against them. Battle had come to Mordor.

The blackness surrounded everything, all light from the outside world was severed as if it had never been. Men stood shaking in their armor, wondering what sort of creatures could drain away the light very sun.

Gandalf alone contested the darkness, a beacon in the night. He stood impassively on a hilltop in the very heart of the battle, seemingly unperturbed by the force before him. Aragorn could been seen standing beside them. How they moved so quickly was beyond him.

Legolas sat stiffly on Arod's back, dimly aware of Gimli's presence behind him. The dwarf shifted impatiently, the shaking hands stopped, watching the flood of orcs and men surround the small group. _He will leave soon,_ the elf acknowledged. _He has never enjoyed fighting from horseback._ The ways of the dwarves were ground heavily into him, and some barriers you just could not break.

The orcs stood tall and silent, folding into dark ranks. The howls and jeers slowly ceased into a unbroken stillness, the only sound the wisp of the breeze and the faint echo of metal rasping on leather. An eerie shiver tingled down Legolas' spine. This was it. The calm before the storm, and this looked like it would be a tempest.

"What are they doing?"

Legolas jumped slightly. He had not even heard Pippin come up behind him, a remarkable feat for a hobbit on ponyback in a metallic sea. The hobbit rode Stybba, who was originally Merry's mount. Pippin had fallen in love with the pony in their short stay in Gondor, and eventually Merry had consented to give him to Pippin.

It took a moment for the question to register. When he did speak, Legolas' words came out slowly and deliberately, "They are waiting for us to break." The whisper sounded alone in the silence.

Then, as if his words broke the spell, the enemy took up a mounting torrent of chilling howls. Pippin's eyes opened wide and the young hobbit scrabbled hastily for his sword as the crys faded from the night. The line of orcs visibly shimmered as each of the beasts rew his hooked blade.

"Easy, Pippin," Gimli said from Legolas' back. "They will not move yet. Sheath your sword before you remove Stybba's ears with it." The dwarf's voice was steady and confident, careless of the fact that the men were outnumbered ten to one. "Legolas, will you give me a hand or should I just slide off backwards?"

Legolas turned easily around and assisted Gimli off of Arod's back. When the dwarf's feet touched the ground, some part off Legolas did not want to let this friend's hand go, to abandon Gimli to the world by himself, however idiotic it seemed.

He clasped Gimli's gauntleted forearm tightly in his for a moment longer. "Watch yourself, _mellon nin._"

Gimli snorted. "Do you think a single one of these orcs would dare strike me down? Nay, my axe would have long since removed their heads." He looked up, eyes somber. "But you be sure to watch your back. A bow is no use when you are stabbed from behind."

"Very reassuring, friend." Legolas rolled his eyes as the two let their grips slip apart. "Pippin, you should heed Master Gimli's words. Take care of yourself, and nothing will happen to you." Legolas smiled down at the hobbit.

Pippin lost the chance to reply when an orc, standing at least half a foot above the rest, shouted out a twisted word in the Black Tongue and, as of freed from their bonds, the orcs charged forwards in a crowd of bodies.

The blades appeared in Legolas' hands as if by magic. With a shout, Legolas kicked Arod forward with the surging mass of roaring Dunedain.

A swift slash brought down the first orc to come within range. A second narrowly missed an uruk's head, and Legolas' hand reversed the blade and brought it down in a thrust that stabbed through the orc's chest. Fighting from horseback was an art that Legolas had not practiced for long, having grown up in a wood where mounted fighting was very rare and the most useful skill you could have was the ability to slip unheard through the boughs of a tree and bring down an enemy with a silent bow.

So when the body stayed on the edge of the blade for a moment longer than Legolas was used to, he had to remind himself to twist after making contact. He roughly jerked the knife from the orc, and half-watched in disgust as the body slide to the ground, leaving a bloody stain on the white haft of his blade.

Legolas could feel his mind slipping down into the numb state he was used to in battle, caring only about the slicing next enemy before it could slice him. Everything appeared in a heightened state, almost a dream. Or a nightmare.

The rhythm was the simplest, most basic beat in the song of a war. Swing the arm up, bring it down with all the force you can muster,_ twist_, and it all began again. It pulsed clearly through the melee._ Slay them, and so save the world._ Slay them, or they will slay you.

The twin sons of Elrond appeared at his sides, Elladan on his right and Elrohir on his left, each throwing a piercing Sindarin battle-cry into the fray. Their blades, already shining with blood, swooped up and down almost simultaneously in cruel parody if their identical looks.

He could feel the Dunedain behind him, before him, cut deep into enemy lines. The orcs were only a black wall that had to be torn down.

With a grin that terrified the orcs before him, Legolas voiced a lingering woodland battle cry to match the Lords of Imladris.

* * *

Around Pippin, the world surged forward and back, beaten off by the enemy. His sword was clutched in a sweating palm, and he prayed that he would not drop it.

Stybba, beneath him, tossed up his head and shied backwards. "Shush," Pippin's voice came out in a nervous whisper, and Stybba did not listen, only stepped further backwards. Pippin's eyes went forward, looking at the men falling from mounts ahead of him. They _needed _help, any help.Pippin strengthened his voice, "Stybba! We have to go forwards!" The pony did not listen.

"Merry!" Pippin looked around wildly. Merry had to come and control his mount! The thing would not listen to him. Only Merry could fix this.

Oblivious to the fight raging around him, Pippin let Stybba have his head and wander where he would. Swords crashed down around the pair, and Pippin jerk hard as he could on the reins to avoid a stroke aimed at his head. _Where was Merry? _He had to find Merry!

"Master Perian!"

Somebody was calling to him, somebody that sounded vaguely familiar. An orc rushed towards Stybba's head, twisting his filthy hand into the horses mane and bringing his dagger up for a quick stab to the pony's jugular.

Pippin did not notice his hand move. One moment, his sword was limp at his side, the next it was buried in the orc's fur-covered chest. He watched in muted shock as the body slid from his blade to the ground.

Somebody barked a laugh behind him. "Well done, Perian! A fine kill, that was."

Pippin raised his eyes from the body at Stybba's finally-still feet. Why was the pony standing still now? Oh, that was right. Somebody had taken hold of the reins.

"Pippin? Are you injured?" The voice was concerned now, and Pippin looked further up to the holder's eyes.

"Beregond!"

The guard laughed again, this time in relief. "Aye, 'tis me, Pippin."

Pippin's face lit up for a moment, and Beregond pulled lightly at the reins, bringing Pippin closer to the circle of Gondor's men. The smile vanished suddenly, and was replaced with confusion. "What are you doing with the Dunedain?'

A man inside the circle laughed, and Beregond shot him a glare. "Dunedain? Is that who you were riding with? Master Hobbit, you have indeed wandered far. You are lucky not to be spitted on a orc-blade. The Dunedain are stationed to the North. You stand now with the men of the Tower of Guard and the knights of Dol Amroth."

"Mostly with the Tower of Guard. The Swan-knights are pulling a heroic scheme and marching straight into the arms of the enemy's darker force," the man who had laughed at Pippin's confusion earlier spoke up.

A man beside him punched him lightly on the arm, "And, look, they are winning!" Pippin tore his eyes from the armed group to the line of Dol Amroth before him. The banners, etched with a silver swan, blew unheeded in the breeze as the soldier fought beneath them.

"Shouldn't we helping them?" Pippin looked back to Beregond. _I wish Merry were here._

"In a moment. They are holding fine, now, by themselves. Should their line weaken in the slightest, we will join them. For now, we save our strength for later in this battle-" He was cut off by a terrifying roar.

Ahead, the line of Dol Amroth broke as the hill-trolls smashed into them.

* * *

It had lived in the hills of the Gorgorath for as long as it could remember, only having the occasional ranger and other trolls to prey on, the blood-lust never fully slaked, the urge to kill being taken out on its own kind only.

Then the orcs had come, and with them they had brought sharp objects that hurt it before it could even get close enough to smell the blood coursing beneath their skin. Then they had chained it and starved it, it feeding only when the orcs guarding it got too close.

Then this had come, and all was forgotten.

The imprisonment, the capture, was erased, the time it had lived in the hills was gone from its limited memory. Before it were legions upon legions, rows upon rows, of shiny men with sharp swords and warm flesh, and he was hungry.

The orc, huge among its fellows, that held its chain was dragged along behind it as the trolls surged forwards to meet the men.

It lumbered up, closer, and could taste the fear, to almost taste the blood in his mouth. The sharp, flying objects peppered its skin, but now it could not feel them. They were so close, so near, and all they had were pointed sticks against its overwhelming strength.

A roar to his left alerted it of a new danger. Another troll, smaller that it, stood a few yards off, running forward into its path, eyes mad with hunger and craving.

The small troll cut off its chosen path, diving forwards and smashing into the ranks before it, taking what was _its_. That troll had stolen his meat, had tasted the blood before him, and that was not to be forgiven.

It leaped forwards, clubbing the smaller troll's back with its huge anvil. The troll turned back to it, bellowing its rage, and the large troll leaped again, this time being met with the satisfying crunch of flesh as its teeth sunk into the jugular.

Th body sunk, forgotten, downwards, to crush those men that did not run away fast enough, and then it trampled forward, breaking through the line of men in sliver and heading for a smaller, unprepared group.

The men spread out into a line, spears brought up and jabbing. Two figures did not move fast enough to escape the club, one tall and on foot, the other small and one horseback. Their scramble to escape amused it, somewhere inside, and it brought its hammer up and swung, waiting for the sickening crunch.

* * *

Pippin saw the troll break the line and come charging at him. To his side he heard Beregond shouting orders, and dimly felt something pulling at Stybba's reins. A strangely coherent thought broke through the fog, _Merry will slay me if something happens to Stybba._

"Pippin!" A voice cried off to his left, the same voice that had told the men to form up.

The troll was running towards them, its huge belly shaking violently as lumbered along.

The pony moved reluctantly under a touch, and Pippin jarred back into reality. _Beregond._ The man gave one last, desperate yank at the reins as the troll bellowed fiercely at them, swinging its club.

Pippin watched in amazement, marveling at the strength it must take to life such a heavy hammer.

The club swung up.

It was exactly like one from the blacksmith's shop, only ten times bigger-

The club came down.

The anvil took Beregond across the chest, crushing him and tossing him backwards. The troll turned to watch the body flung and bounce slightly as it hit the ground, as if it savored the moment.

The men thrust their spears up at it, but it swung its giant anvil once more and Gondor's line took several shuddering steps back.

Without knowing how he did it, Pippin dismounted Stybba. His legs moved of their own accord, taking him towards the troll who leaned over Beregond's body. The Numenorean blade glittered in his hands, then stretched upwards.

The blade pierced the troll's immense gut as the beast tried to claw into Beregond's flesh. The creature shuddered, the bellowed loudly before it collapsed forward.

_So this is how it will end,_ came Pippin's last despairing thought as he and Beregond were crushed in the bloody darkness beneath the body.

Across the field rang cries of wonder and joy, _The Eagles are coming! The Eagles are coming_!

* * *

Aragorn stood fuming on a hill-top.

Under reasonable circumstances, he would not be wasting time on such thoughts in the middle of a battle. In the very least, he would not be quite so focused on those that made him angry, especially if those beings were his friends.

But, under even the most unreasonable of circumstances, he would not literally be in the _middle_ of the battle. The _exact_ middle.

_Never, ever trust an Istari._ It was Gandalf's fault that he was up here in the first place. The Wizard had too good of a sense of reason, and too wise of a tongue to be talked to in any time of confusion. Gandalf had convinced him that this forsaken hilltop would be an excellent place to conduct a battle from. Unfortunately, it was true. It also kept him above the fighting, where his men and his friends were dying.

He, of course, knew that he was more use up here. Dying down in the spree within the first few minutes would have been a distinct possibility if he had remained with the Dunedain. Up here, it was all in his field of view and under his, if very limited control.

"My lord!" A call come from behind him. Aragorn turned, and was faced with and terrified aide who pointed and mumbled incoherently at the Morannon. Aragorn crossed the space on the hilltop in the span of a second. He looked out down the edge of the hill, and was faced with an early disaster.

The men of Dol Amroth and the Dunedain were being pushed back and infiltrated be the orcs. They were pressed against the Rohirrim and Men of Gondor, and the small circle of defenses was contracted even more. Aragorn glanced at the fiery tip of Mount Doom, the only light in the sky.

_Frodo needs more time._ If Frodo was even alive.

Aragorn eyed the rest of the company on the hill. They were not soldiers, any of them, but they could follow order. They would have to do, for what he had planned. That stopped him for a moment. _Plan? _He smiled grimly. _More of a death sentence_.

He twisted himself into his saddle and pulled his horse's reins gently from the farrier's hands. One hand closed upon them, the other closed upon the haft of a great pole, banner shrouded in black. His knuckles turned white, then his hand loosened as he whipped the staff upwards.

The shroud fluttered off, carried away by the breeze, and in its place was a white tree and seven stars, the only hope left of Gondor and the rest of Arda. The tails of the banner were toyed with by the wind, sent flying majestically behind him, and the jeweled points shone with an unnatural light and beauty of things long passed remade. It was the cloth of his Evenstar, and its chance had come.

He looked at the men before him, paltry few and thin, and said the only words of hope he could muster._ "This will not be the end."_ He hissed it out, voice forceful and commanding. Their faces quivered into nervous smiles, and they mounted their own few horsesm less than a half dozen of them, and stood patiently behind him, waiting for the word.

He turned back to face them once more. "Go to the people of your homelands." Their was a man from Imrahil's party with him, a stratigist who had useful in the siege of Minas Tirith, and the farrier had been from Rohan. "Fight for them!"

He spurred his horse's flanks with his heels and he, with the gift from his lady, the gift that would hopefully rally the Men of World, galloped down towards the death and carnage of a battle worth dying in.

* * *

_Just to let the world know, this was supposed to be much longer. But, as I am the world's slowest author and I knew thatpeople would think this was abandoned pretty soon, I shortened it up. Sorry. The next chapter will be out in a long while, as I need to catch up on less important things such as school work and work work and the rest of the world. :) Drop a review, it'll make my day! If you can, leave your email so I can get back to you without being kicked of ff. Speaking of reviews, thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. It meant a lot to me, and I'll try and get back to you ASAP._


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